


On the Breath of a Storm

by HathorAroha



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21541951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HathorAroha/pseuds/HathorAroha
Summary: "Our" Max, the Max of our timeline, leaves a note behind on the offchance that the alternate timeline with Chloe in a wheelchair will continue without her. Alternate Max "awakes" to the letter, and is forced to face what has happened to Chloe. A storm still approaches the bay, unseen and all warnings from this strange Max not of this world unheeded.
Relationships: Maxine "Max" Caulfield/Chloe Price
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	On the Breath of a Storm

Max hesitates, hand over the photo, a rogue thought stringing through her head. She thinks how she had been living a life in this reality, with no memory of her alternate self’s past. Had she been living a life over the past night and evening in her old timeline too? When she returns, would she still be in her dorm room, or somewhere else? Would she remember anything of her timeline’s unrelenting forward march of time when she returns? 

She imagines the Max of this timeline returning, without memory of the previous evening, nor of Chloe asking her to turn up the dosage to give her a mercy kill. Max had refused, and while she regrets Chloe getting pissed off at her, she couldn’t bring herself to do it, like the chickenshit loser friend that she is. 

_Would_ this _timeline’s Max have agreed? Or refused? Would she know why Chloe’s so pissed off at her? Us? Me? Would she even have cared anything about Chloe after seeing her like this? Would she have run away?_

It couldn’t hurt to write at least a note, right? If this timeline still exists, and the old Max of this universe returns without knowledge of last night or this morning, at least she’d have a note to tell her what had transpired. And if this timeline ceased to exist once Max returns to her “home” timeline, then no harm done either way. 

_Maybe I_ should _write a quick note for this timeline’s Max, just in case._

Getting up, Max leaves this Chloe’s bedside, photo album still open to the vital image; Chloe is still not speaking to her, head turned away from Max. 

_I’m sorry, Chloe, but...I really can’t take your life like this._

A step away from the desk with the huge computer monitor, Max recalls having seen a pen or two lying around next to the keyboard, and a green folder that she suspects has medical notes in, and even she draws a firm line at nosying into other people’s confidential medical records. Even if those medical records were her best friend’s. But...there could be spare paper in there and, so, despite herself, she quickly opens it to see, much to her relief, a spare blank piece of paper. 

_This should do._

Grabbing the paper, she closes the folder while looking away, and picks up the nearest pen by the keyboard, scrawling a quick run down of what had happened. She can only hope Max of this timeline would understand it--if this timeline keeps existing at all once she leaves. 

_Please be there for Chloe,_ please. 

She hated to think of this world’s Max returning, and immediately walking out on Chloe in disgust, and it makes her sick to think how easily she can imagine this happening. Judging by the texts on her cellphone (she’d had a gander on the way to Chloe’s yesterday), and seeing the company her alternate self kept, this universe’s Max was way more social and probably very snobbish. 

_Would_ this _Max park in a handicap spot? Double park, even?_

Max deplores how easy it is to imagine this timeline’s Max not hesitating to do so, uncaring of the consequences of her actions. 

_There._

Done with the letter, she is about to turn back to the bed when another thought strikes: should she warn about the tornado tomorrow? Would that be enough of an incentive for this world's Max to stay at least one day more with her friend? 

_Couldn’t hurt._

Letter--if it could be called that--done, she returns to the bed--Chloe seems to have fallen into a deep sleep--and lays the letter on the page that does not have the photo that would take her back five years and, she hoped, back to her old timeline, back to her blue-haired, healthy, fully able-bodied Chloe. 

_Look after my Chloe..._

One focus, and Max is gone, leaving behind her alternate self still bent over the photo album. 

A time lag of seconds pass between the exchange of personalities and one consciousness leaving for good, and another returning from a strange dormancy...

Max, not the Max that left, but the Max of the here and now, of the universe where Chloe never dyed her hair blue, where she never lost her beloved father, comes back to herself bent over a photo album laid wide open on a bed that is definitely not hers, and in a room that is certainly not a part of any dorm at Blackwell. Her face feels wet, as though she had been crying; she raises a hand to wipe her eyes, staring at the tears she has brushed away on her fingertips. She hears the soft movement of fluid moving down the drip nearby, and the occasional beep of a machine, followed by a distinct inhalation then exhalation, which sounds so artificial to Max’s ears. The sound of the ventilator draws her eyes up to Chloe, and Max flinches at the sight of her laying in bed so close to her she could have touched her just by reaching out. Chloe’s head is turned away from her, and Max wonders if she imagines a sniffle, like she’s been crying too. 

_Oh my God. Chloe...why didn’t you tell me?_

Max can’t tear her eyes away from the tube inserted in Chloe’s throat, the tube that runs over her chest, hanging over the other side of the bed. She has a fucking _tube_ in her neck, to help her _breathe_ at all. Shit. Shit. 

_Omigod. She really is handicapped in a really fucking bad way._

Well, duh, Maxine Caulfield, she tells herself, even as the memory of learning about what had happened to her childhood friend comes racing back to her. She remembers well how numb she had felt--she had not even reacted to the news. Like it wasn’t even real. Like it was happening to some other Chloe, some other poor girl who deserved none of this. That it didn’t happen to a girl who deserved to enjoy punk rock concerts, to dance in the mosh pit, to tattoo her body, to dye her hair, to dream of studying toward a PhD at some esteemed university, to experience _life_. That this accident had happened to a different Chloe, not Chloe Price with her double dares, sweet smile, and an amazing passion for science. That it had happened to some other Chloe who never had a toy lab set, who never dreamed of being an astronaut on Mars, who never wanted to study engineering at a top university. How could fate ever do something so horrific to “her” Chloe “Captain Bluebeard” Price? 

And--even worse--Max had been _so_ uncomfortable once the news had sunk in she hadn’t even bothered to text, let alone call, her the whole two years since the accident. Letters and postcards were at least _something_ , but still not enough. Never enough. 

_At least I could pretend it wasn’t that shitty of a deal while I was having fun in Seattle. To be honest, she didn’t say she was_ this _bad--she had seemed to be doing just fine._

She drags her eyes away from where Chloe’s tube terminated at her neck, trying not to think about the hole that would’ve been cut there in surgery to insert that thing in there, just to help her breathe. And she hadn’t even bothered to visit her friend in the hospital. 

_God. There is no God. And if there is, then fuck him or her or it. Fuck you, God._

But, as disturbing as it is for Max to see Chloe like this, that really isn’t the most alarming thing here. The most confusing thing is--

_How in the name of fuck did I end up here? What the actual hell?_

Her eyes drift to the letter on the album, penned in her own hand, but she doesn’t recall writing a single word of it. Weirdest of all, it is addressed to her... _from_ her. 

_Am I tripping balls? How much pot did I have last night?_

The paper feels real in her hands, the scribbled words as clear and sharp as midday sunlight--too real to be even the most vivid of dreams. 

“Max,” the letter reads, “This is real. You probably don’t remember anything of last night.” 

_No shit. At Blackwell literally one second, and now I’m here. At Chloe’s._

“...I came in from another timeline, one where Chloe is not in a wheelchair, where she is able to use all her limbs, where she can stage dive in the mosh pit, shaka bra. Look, you--I mean I--spent the night with Chloe. We watched _Blade Runner_. She fell asleep as usual. Woke up this morning. She wanted her morphine injector for her ‘regular head pains.’ Asked me to turn up the dosage to ‘eleven’ to hasten her inevitable death.” 

_Inevitable_ death? 

“...I found a letter in her parents’ room from her doctor. In short: respiratory failure and decline is not uncommon with severe spinal injuries. But I couldn’t let her die. I know she doesn’t want to die. I wanted her to live, even if it wrecks me to see Chloe in pain. She’s pissed off I refused to kill her. That I’m like everyone else, that I’ve been wanting to leave since I came here. Believe me. I would never hurt Chloe. And I want to believe you won’t either. Especially as “I” was the only one of her friends who kept in touch at all since her accident.” 

_She’s dying. How long has she been dying? Since the accident? And every one of her ‘”friends”_ abandoned _her after the accident except me? Some friends they were._

Despite the general weirdness of the letter as a whole, it is the last line that’s the most confusing, and Max’s first instinct is to dismiss it out of hand, as some weird crazy “prediction” from whoever wrote this. 

“This is going to sound crazy, but a tornado is coming tomorrow. Friday 11th October. It will wreck havoc on Arcadia Bay. Just please, please be there for Chloe. Please.” 

She had other friends too, didn’t this Max realise? Didn’t she think that she wanted to hang out with Victoria, with Taylor, with Courtney? Their party was tonight for fuck’s sake--no way Max was going to miss that for the world!

_But would I miss it for Chloe?_ _Shit, I need to think._

And anyway, she had classes this morning and friends to reconnect with. Her phone was no doubt already full of messages questioning her whereabouts. Well, they wouldn’t need to wonder any longer, soon as she returns back to Blackwell Academy for her classes and her large social circle. She was needed at her school too, she was going to be missed if she didn’t get there now. 

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, the letter clutched into a ball in her hand, Max departs Chloe’s side, leaving her friend in a deep, morphine-ridden slumber. 

_I’ll come back soon, Chloe. For reals._

The bus, always so reliable, always so on time, takes Max on its circuit back to Blackwell Academy, ready for another round of classes. Yet, her mind is full of not the looming hours of English, maths, and photography, but of ventilators, drips, and a girl who never deserved to be the way she was. When the bus slows as it approaches its stop outside campus, there is nothing but the sounds of machine-assisted breathing and the whoosh of fluid morphine from a drip into her childhood best friend.

“Are you getting off, girl?” 

Max comes back to herself with a little jerk; the bus driver had twisted around in his seat to look at her. Blackwell Academy looms right outside the windows. Was she already back at school? 

“Yeah, thanks.” Max mumbles, slinging her bag over her shoulder, quickly stepping out onto the path into another warm day. So unseasonable. But at least it’s not snowing or raining dead birds. 

“Back to the old grind of school...” 

_First school, then tonight we party. I swear, I’ll see you again Chloe, but the party’s tonight._

She could only hope to god that her friend would by tomorrow have forgiven her for refusing to turn up the morphine to its maximum setting, to let her drift into a permanence of slumber, never to be disturbed or awakened by pain again. 

_Would_ I _have done what this...Max who was me, but not me, refused to do? Would I have agreed out of pity or out of love? Would I have begged to give me another day with her, or be happy to help?_

Max was no psychic, but she doesn't need to be one to foretell that there is no way she will be paying attention--as if she ever did--to any of her classes, including her photography class later in the day. 

_Would Taylor and Victoria understand if I told them? Would they sympathise? I know Taylor has her mom with her spinal surgery, but at least she isn’t a quadriplegic. I'll talk to her later. Maybe at lunch._

Lunchtime arrives in a blur of classes, margin doodles, and mumbled answers when called on in her classes. Of course the teachers choose today of all days to keep calling on her for answers she didn't have. Homework was for sissies and boring people. She didn't need to do homework or do the readings. If she was still passing anyway, then why did she need to do homework? It was a huge waste of time, not when she could be confabbing with her friends or getting ready for the next shingding party. Or going out on the town clubbing, not that Arcadia Bay had much of a clubbing scene. You could only go to the same four or five or six pubs so many times before you get sick of them all. The fishermen smelled, the truckers groped them (eww, they were like a hundred years old perving on 18 year olds. Fucking gross.), and there were no gambling machines to keep them entertained all night, throwing all their scholarship money down the drain. 

_Time to see Taylor and all._

She finds Taylor and co hanging out under a tree, enjoying the midday sun shining down from up high in the sky. Courtney, as always, is standing up next to them, her lunch in her hands, even though she wasn't eating. Victoria and Taylor are cross-legged on the grass, Taylor leaning back on her hands, head tilted skyward to let the sun hit her face. It is Victoria who spots Max approaching, and jumps to her feet to give her a hug. 

"Hey, I got worried when you didn't answer my text. Were you that pissed at us?" 

Max pats her back in response, pulling out of the hug. 

"No, no, I wasn't pissed at you." 

"Then what was that all about yesterday? You ran off on us, and then refused to answer our messages. That's not like you, Maxine." 

"I had to see an old friend of mine." 

Taylor, having now seen that Max had returned, too leaps up to her feet and runs to greet Max with a quick hug. 

"Who then, Max? Was it an emergency?" Taylor's hands fly to her mouth, "Was she okay?" 

"An old childhood friend of mine," Max explains, "Chloe. She was in a car accident." 

"Holy shit!" Taylor exclaims from behind her hands, "I'm sorry, Max!" 

"Apparently someone cut her off when she was driving and she ended up completely paralysed. Quadriplegic." 

"Oh god, that's awful," Victoria says in hushed tones, "Was this accident recent?" 

"Two years ago," Max winces. "And I never visited her in hospital. Some friend I was." 

"That's heavy stuff," Courtney puts in, having joined them in the middle of all this, "No wonder you didn't visit her. She sounds like she was pretty crippled." 

"Uh, no one uses that word anymore, Courtney," Victoria jumps in, "It's not a nice word to use." 

"Oh, why not?" 

"It's like 'retarded'. Outmoded." Taylor explains.

"Chloe's definitely still smart as hell," Max assures, "She's crazy for science."

"Is there any chance she might recover?" 

Max bites her lip, recalling again the letter and the respirator helping Chloe breathe, lest she suffocate without its aide. 

"Unfortunately..." her voice threatens to give, and her shoulders sag. Taylor wraps an arm around her shoulders in an offer of comfort. "She's...her respiratory system is failing." 

Victoria gasps loudly, eyes wide. "Oh no..." 

"I have no idea how long she has left," Max confesses, "but I have a feeling she's...she's not going to be with us much longer." 

"Holy shit." 

"I should've visited her earlier, seen her in the hospital two years ago, but no. Guess parties and drinkies on the town were more important than my childhood best friend lying in a hospital unable to move a muscle." 

"I'd have done the same," Courtney says, in an obvious attempt to reassure Max, "I wouldn't have wanted to visit her in hospital either. Handicapped people make me waaay too uncomfortable." 

"All her other friends abandoned her except me, apparently." 

"But you just said--"

"I sent her postcards and letters, but..." Max sighs, "I don't know if that was enough." 

Courtney pats her shoulder, shoots her an assuring little smile and nod. "That was more than enough. She'll survive without you for a day. You'll be coming to the party tonight, won't you, Max?" 

Finally, Max manages a smile, her heart soaring again from where it had slipped down to somewhere near her stomach. "I wouldn't miss it for the fucking world, Courtney. Duh, of course I'm coming tonight." 

Victoria punches Max on the arm. "That's the spirit, Max! Time to party tonight, like it's the end of the world!" 

_Parties always come first. Always._

Max links arms with Taylor and Victoria, eyes blazing and grin huge as they saunter into the VIP section of the Vortex party where Courtney is already waiting for them. Deep in the throbbing, deafening music, flashing strobe lights, and flashing colours swaying and swirling over the ceiling and walls, Max feels right at home, in her element. 

_Let’s party, rock star!_

“Courtney!” Max yells, unlinking her arms and throwing herself at her friend. “Time to thrash this place!” 

“What?!” Courtney screams back, hand cupping her ear. “I’m deaf in here!” 

“I said! Let’s thrash this place!” 

“Drinkies always come first, Maxine!” Courtney fishes out a fresh, unopened bottle of beer, pressing it into Max’s hands. “Drink up!” 

Max grins, rips open the beer bottle, and presses the rim to her lips, tilting her head back. 

“CHUG, CHUG, CHUG, CHUG!” Victoria and Taylor encourage her, screaming at the top of their lungs over the music and chatter. 

She chugs as much as she can, until some of it slips down the wrong pipe, and she pulls the bottle from her mouth, coughing and spluttering all over herself. _Such_ dignity. 

“Damn, let’s do it again!” Taylor slings an arm around Max’s shoulders. “Good chug, babe!” 

Max waits until she recovers from her coughing fit to respond. “Cheers, Sweet-T!” she yells back. 

“Do it again!” 

She obliges, ignoring the bitter taste of beer down her throat, her stomach already threatening to nope out of here with the chugging. When she finishes, she hands the bottle to Taylor. 

“Your turn!” 

“Fine, Max! As you wish!” 

Taylor is way better at the chugging than Max ever will be, and she manages to drain the rest of the bottle in two more goes. 

“Let’s hit the dance floor!” Victoria grabs both girls’ hands and yanks them along with her to the heart of the party. 

_Let’s fucking do this thing! Time to party!_

And party she does, jumping up and down to the beat, her arms flailing in the air, her eyes shut tight, feeling the music drum in her ribcage and boom in her long-suffering eardrums. She’s probably going to be stone deaf by twenty at this rate, but she doesn’t care right now--all that matters is the music, the lights, the dance, the friends, the band, the everything about this night. She doesn’t care if she looks stupid or ravishingly sexy, she is Maxine fucking Caulfield, and she is _amazing_. 

But when she opens her eyes again, she stumbles backward into someone behind her, mouth open, eyes nearly popping out of her head, jaw sagging open. 

_The fuck is this?!_

For, right there, dancing along with her is a gorgeous blue-haired girl with a tattoo on one arm, her clothes definitely deep in punk style territory. She dances as mad as Max had, drawing on a cigarette before exhaling, the smoke clouding around her head. She grins at Max, blue eyes wild with excitement. 

“What’s the matter, hippie?!” she yells, “Can’t dance? Come on!” 

_Chloe?! But...how? How the hell? Am I that drunk already that I’m hallucinating?_

“Chloe?!” 

“That’s me, hipster! Now let’s party! Why aren’t you dancing!” 

“I thought you were...” Max’s words die on her lips as the visage of Chloe suddenly vanishes, as though she were never there in the first place. 

_What. What just happened?_

Chloe was here. Chloe _had_ been here. But not paralysed, confined to a wheelchair or a bed. She was here, she was absolutely stunning, healthy and light on her feet, and...then gone. Gone like she’d never been there. But she _had_ been there, her voice full and rich, no fucking tube going into her throat. 

“Chloe...where...” 

And suddenly Courtney is in front of Max, waving a hand in front of her face. 

“Uh, hellooo, Maxine? Are you in there?” 

Max blinks, shakes her head. “Uh, yeah...gotta go get some air.” 

“I’ll come out with you.” 

Max shakes her head, at the same time fumbling for her phone in her pocket, whipping it out when her fingers stumble across it. 

“I need to see someone first! I’m sorry for bailing!” Max shouts, “I--I have to do this!” 

“We only just got started, mad Max!” 

“Sorry, Courtney, gotta see a friend!” 

“Whom?!” 

“Chloe!” 

“Oh, that cripple?” 

Max can’t help but flinch, the word “cripple” burning into her ears with its derision. She decides not to dwell too long on the fact she would have used that word, in that tone of voice, once upon a time.

 _She is not a cripple. She’s Chloe._ _Chloe Price. Captain Bluebeard._

“What’s the matter?” 

“N-nothing."

“Let me know when you come back, won’t you, Max?!” 

“I will!” 

Max pushes, shoves, and pulls her way past people to the exit, glad to finally step outside and be alone for a moment to think and pull herself together. The air, cool and refreshing after being inside the hot and sweaty swimming pool area, strokes Max’s face as she leans against the wall outside, closing her eyes, taking deep breaths, so deep she feels her lungs might burst. At least she could breathe on her own without the aide of a ventilator. She still can’t get that...hallucination? Vision? Whatever that was--of a healthy, punk Chloe out of her head. Was that even real? And the way she had looked! So happy, fully in her element, so healthy and stunning that Max could not have taken her eyes off her even if she had wanted to. 

_So not fair. I hope whoever totaled her car feels like absolute_ shit _for the rest of his life. If he even cared at all._

She pulls out her cellphone, checking the time--already past nine thirty. Should she even bother Chloe this late at night? She wants to see her again so badly it’s like a physical ache in her chest. 

_I need to see her again._

Opening up her messages, she sees a new one from Chloe already waiting for her. Heart skipping a beat, she opens up the new text. 

_6:27pm_

_hey max, sorry about today. I suck. I shouldn’t have gone off at you like that. I do want you to come back. Really._

_6:30pm_

_I really, really am glad you came to see me. I love you max. you know I never want to hurt you. forgiven?_

_7:17pm_

_Max? You there? do I have to turn up the mush? sorry not high enough on morphine to turn up the mush much more._

Shit. Max hadn’t even answered, too focused on the party at hand. She imagines Chloe in her bed--or her wheelchair--using some apparatus, or even a text to speech app, to “write” out these texts. 

_9:36pm_

_Chloe! Of course I forgive you! no need to turn up the mush._

Max doesn’t expect a reply, at least not tonight. Chloe was probably fast asleep by now. She swears she’s going to visit her first thing in the morning tomorrow, before class. 

_Maybe I should go back to the dorms. Throw up a couple of times in the girl’s bathroom, take a shower, sleep off the booze..._

Her phone vibrates and pings with a new message. 

_9:42pm_

_oh thank god. don’t have to get all mushy at you._

Huh, so she was still awake then. Should she go over there again? Another sleepover couldn’t hurt, right? And Max really had to see her again. Especially after that...apparition. 

_9:42pm_

_chloe I have to see you again. Sleepover again? Tonight? I know it’s late, but really. I want to see you again. If you’re up for it._

Max sends the text and starts strolling back in the direction of her dorm, glad for once to have an excuse to get away early. Even if Chloe declines the sleepover request, Max still can at least get a proper sleep before morning. 

_9:46pm_

_Damn, Max, you’re eager tonight aren’t you? ;)_

Ugh, an emoji. Right up there with “wowsers” on the list of things Max hates. She has no idea why they drive her batty, but they do. 

_9:47pm_

_sure, come over. I won’t be much company though. Parents are still awake. They’ll come answer the door. Night owls the both of them._

Well that was convenient. 

_9:47pm_

_getting ready to come._

If Max can make it before 10:30pm--the final circuit of the bus nearby--then a sleepover it was. 

_Sorry Victoria, Taylor, and co. Gotta see Chloe again. Hate to dump and run on you all._

Max, by some miracle, manages to be ready by five minutes past ten, a small pack in hand, running for the bus stop, just in time to catch the bus pulling in. The doors open and she practically flies up the stairs to the first empty seat she sees. Sagging breathlessly into her seat, she pulls out her phone again. 

_9:51pm_

_getting ready to come? thirsty, max? kidding, kidding._

_10:06pm_

_on bus now. nothing dirty about what I said._

_10:07pm_

_sure max._

Max couldn’t be sure if that was in response to her denial of thirstiness, to being on the bus, or both. Probably both. Chloe apparently had a dirtier mind than she had imagined. 

_Just because she’s disabled, doesn’t mean she’s all pure, pure sunshine, kittens, and vanilla ice-cream. And Chloe’s...nineteen? Like, she’s practically a woman? With human needs? Duh?_

The bus comes to a halt at its final stop and Max gets off, running straight for Chloe's house, hoping she wouldn't come across any ax murderers or whatever whenever she passes an alley or turns a corner. But she makes it in one piece, safe and sound, even if out of breath, at Chloe's. The lights in the windows are still on, so someone was obviously still awake. When she knocks on the door, it is Joyce who answers and breaks into a glad smile and offers a quick, but warm nonetheless, hug. 

"Max, it's so good to see you again. Another night over with Chloe, I take it?" 

"I haven't seen her in so long, I felt I owed it up to her." 

"Well, she's still awake and in her room. Come on through." 

When Max sees Chloe once again in her room, she is still in her bed, as she had been earlier today when she had blinked and found herself by her bedside. Chloe's blonde hair is gorgeous in the lamplight, and the shadows emphasise the thinness of her cheeks, the way the blankets lie over her too-still frame. Despite all of this, she greets Max with a warm smile, Max's heart skipping a few beats before thumping in her chest as she sees how beautiful she looks when her gratitude reaches her big blue eyes. Again, that vision of a healthier, carefree Chloe flashes before her eyes, taunting her with what could have been, had she never found herself in that awful accident. 

"Hey Max, glad you came back. Looks like another sleepover for us, right?" 

Max pushes the image of blue-haired Chloe from her mind, nods in the affirmative. "That's right." 

After thanking Joyce, Max steps into the room, closing the door behind her and putting the backpack down against the wall next to the door. 

"Damn, you came back fast." 

Max settles herself on the chair next to the bed, stretching her legs out, crossing them over. "I had to see you again. I mean--I wanted to see you again. Despite the party tonight." 

"Party? Going in the mosh-pit without me, Max?" 

Max laughs, imagining herself going down in the mosh pit. It wasn't that she hadn't tried before, it was that she _had_ tried, but it just wasn't for her. 

She does her best anyway. "Ready for the mosh pit, shaka bra." 

A smirk twitches at the corner of Chloe's mouth. "Eight out of ten for cuteness factor, four out of ten on punk factor." 

Max folds her arms defiantly. "I can still dance up a storm." 

"I could too, if I was able." 

Max's eyes widen as she realises what she'd just said. "Shit--I didn't mean it that way--I meant--" 

"I know what you meant. You don't have to be careful about every word. I care that you had fun at a party." 

"It was absolutely amazing. It's good I can take a drink or two." 

"Hey, at least you can have fun and experience things. What I wouldn't give for a concert right now." 

There is such a wistfulness to Chloe's words that Max can't help but lean forward to rest her hand on Chloe's arm hidden under the blankets. 

"One day, when I'm making lots of money as a photographer, I'll take you to all the concerts. I owe you." 

Chloe's smile fades, and she looks away. "I don't know, Max. I think you'll have to go to them alone." 

"What do you mean? Of course we'll be together." 

"Max--I told you before. The doctors don't expect me to live very long, now that my respiratory system is failing. I'll be lucky to last the rest of the year." 

_So that letter was right. That Max that had been here was not exaggerating. God, Chloe, if I'd have known, if I'd been less selfish._

She takes a deep breath, tries not to dwell again on what she had seen at the party. If only Chloe could've had the chance at life that she will never have. She was only nineteen. Nineteen and dying. And, judging from her expression and her too-calm matter-of-fact way of speaking, Chloe had already long come to terms with her impending death. 

"Chloe...why did you never tell me you were this bad?" 

Chloe turns her head to look at her again. "I never told you about the crutches did I?" 

"Crutches?" 

"Two years ago. The doctors promised mom and dad I'd walk again. Said there was a good chance of it, so they bought me crutches." 

Max swallows, her throat suddenly dry. "And?" 

Chloe nods down at herself. "Spoiler alert: I never walked again. Never will. Got all my hopes up for nothing. Typical doctors." Her head falls back on the pillows, letting loose a hiss of frustration between her teeth. "I hate them all. They tell me, 'oh don't give up hope, Chloe', and then they dash my hopes. Like it's a _joke_ , like I'm so naive and stupid to believe anything, Max. Then there's the nurses who come in and babytalk me while helping me bathe, take a dump, or feed me. Do you _know_ how fucking humiliating it is to be like this, Max? I have _no agency_ over my own body. None. They can do whatever the fuck they want, and I--I can't stop them." Chloe shakes her head in frustration, stops to look again at Max, tears standing in her eyes, an errant one leaking out over the bridge of her nose. "I can't do _anything_ , and I hate it. I want to move so bad. And I--I _can't_ , no matter how hard I try. I'll never dance, I'll never enjoy sand under my feet, I'll never be able to hug my own family or my friends--the ones I have left, anyway. It _hurts._ Hurts so fucking bad. It's like an ache that never goes away. Know what I mean?" 

Max sits down on the bed next to Chloe, resting a hand on her arm under the blankets, throat feeling more constricted than usual as she sees all the pain, frustration, and bitterness laid bare in Chloe's eyes, in the tears that have leaked into her hair, the way her jaw clenches as though to stop herself breaking down all together. 

"Shit, Chloe, I never knew. If I'd have known..." 

"I figured you were too busy enjoying yourself in Seattle to care." Chloe's words are hard and bitter. "So it was easier to pretend to you I was fine. I wanted you to be happy, I wanted you to think all was okay. That I was coping. When I _wasn't_. It was easier to be alone, knowing you were in Seattle having fun, and I--I didn't want to get in the way of that. You deserved to be happy. To enjoy yourself without worrying about how fucked up the accident made me. That the driver who cut me off blames me."

Max's jaw drops open. " _What?"_

"Yeah. Something about me being a teenager and all teenagers are bad drivers, so I had it coming anyway." 

"The actual _fuck_ , Chloe?!" 

"Yeah. _So_ sympathetic, amirite?" 

"I want to find him and beat him up so bad," Max says, her fist tightening in her lap, "He should _never_ have blamed you." 

"Max...sometimes even I blame myself--" 

" _No._ You will _not_ blame yourself for the accident, not if I can help it. That driver is an asshole of the worst kind. Even if you were high as a kite, drunk, and never wore a seatbelt--no-one, _no-one_ deserves to end up as a quadriplegic." 

"What if--" 

"No!" Max's voice is too loud, and she quickly lowers her volume, "No it's not your fault, hear me? You were a responsible driver, I believe you, you're smart and know what the fuck you're doing. That driver sounds like a bitter old man who hates young people because he can and has no hobbies except blaming others for his stupidity. Sad and fucking pathetic." 

Chloe sniffles but says nothing, her eyes haunted, and red-rimmed from her tears. 

_I could've helped you all this time. And I just left you all alone here while I partied, had_ _sex_ \--safe _sex, of course--w_ _ith boys, and went clubbing on the town without a care for you._

Max hates seeing Chloe in tears like this, seeing her in so much emotional pain, so raw and... _open_ with how she was really feeling. If only Max could rewind back two years and undo all her shitty behaviour toward Chloe, including never having visited her, let alone sent a card or flowers, in the hospital. Two years of this, and Max had waited for...for what? The right time? The elusive moment? 

_Oh Chloe...you're so selfless, unlike me._

She slips off the bed and quietly takes a couple tissues from the box on the dresser, returning to where she had sat on the bed next to Chloe, leaning forward to gently dry her tears from her face. Max hates the dark bags under her eyes, how thin and wan her face has become, how dry and cracked her lips are, and how large her eyes appear as she gazes up at Max. 

"Can you blow my nose for me?" 

Max holds the tissues under Chloe's nose, holding it there as she turns her head to blow her nose. 

_I should have been here to help. Not partying. You needed me, but I didn't need you nearly as bad as you did me._

She wipes Chloe's nose and quietly tosses the used tissues in the bin next to the bed. 

"See what I mean? Can't even blow my nose without someone doing it for me. No wonder everyone left me and never came back." 

"I came back, even if it should have been way sooner."

Finally, a small smile from Chloe, her eyes lightening up just a little. "You came back. Again. Even though I told you earlier today to never come back. I still feel like shit for that." 

"Don't. It's okay. Really. I have a friend whose mother is in the hospital for her back, and she has really shit days too when she yells even at her own daughter or husband. You're not alone." 

"Not anymore. Not when you're here. You have no idea how much the fuck I want to hug you right now. Hell, when you came yesterday evening to visit me, if I could've leapt out of that wheelchair to hug you, I would've." 

Max stares at Chloe, seeing for the first time how _old_ she looks, like she has aged well beyond her years. Like she is a wise woman of forty, not a young girl of nineteen with aspirations and dreams and a long future ahead of her. But instead, she has a drip in her hand and a ventilator permanently at her throat. She wants so much to give her the hug she wants, but part of her is afraid she'll knock the drip out of her hand or the ventilator out of her neck. 

"Is it...are you okay if I hug you?" 

"I'm not going to break if you do." 

Max stands up, carefully making sure she isn't going to accidentally yank or nudge the drip as she bends to carefully edge an arm under Chloe's neck, and the other across her shoulders, gently lifting her up off the pillows until Chloe is resting her chin on Max's shoulder, leaning her cheek against hers. Max rests a hand on the back of Chloe's head, feeling how soft her hair is under her fingers, so blonde and light to the touch. Her other arm wraps a little tighter across Chloe's shoulders, feeling how limp she is, how the muscles have no tension at all. She tries to ignore the feel of the tube against her shirt, but not so much she isn't extra careful not to bump her. Only Chloe's leaning her head on her shoulder, and her little sigh of contentment tells Max she's okay, she's not uncomfortable. 

"Tell me when you want me to stop," Max whispers, "I don't want you to be uncomfortable." 

"It's been so long since I've had a hug like this from anyone," Chloe confesses, "Even from my own parents. It's like no one knows how to give me a hug anymore." 

"I'm sorry. That's awful." 

"I've become used to it over these years." 

Max holds on to Chloe, careful but not too careful, still clinging on to her in as long as she needed. Chloe is so warm and thin in her arms, but so unnaturally still too, unable to even feel how close Max is holding her, as though if she clung on to her close enough, she might feel _something_ of her touch. If she could've given anything if it meant Chloe would be able to feel such close intimacy again, she'd have given it in an instant. It wasn't fair that Chloe couldn't feel her own best friend holding her like she never wanted to let her go again. 

"Thanks, Max." 

Taking this as a hint that Chloe's had enough of the hug, Max gently pulls back, carefully laying her on the pillows again, at once seeing that she had been crying the whole time. Chloe manages a watery laugh on seeing that Max has noted her tears. 

"See? You made me all mushy again, Max. Thanks." 

Max sniffs, wipes her hand over her own eyes. "Yeah. I'm a little mushy over here too." She casts her eyes over the drip and ventilator. Nothing seems to be knocked out of place. "I haven't knocked anything important have I?" 

"You were more than fine. Thanks for the hug. Needed that." 

"Anytime, Chloe. Anything else you need?" 

A sleepy yawn from Chloe, her eyes half closing. "Sleep, I think." 

"It's probably getting late already," Max agrees, going to her backpack to search for her night clothes that she'd thrown in there. "Mind if I use your bathroom to change?" 

"Go ahead." 

A few minutes later, Max comes back out of the bathroom, now in her sleepwear. 

"Extra blankets and pillows in the boxes against the wall over there. You can use those." 

Max finds an extra couple blankets and a pillow, laying them on the floor next to Chloe's bed by the drip and dresser. She can feel Chloe's eyes on her, watching as she prepares the blankets and pillows on the floor. She recalls again that visage at the Vortex party, of a healthier and happier Chloe, with blue hair and punk bracelets. If only... 

"Done. Now to get some sleep." 

"What, no goodnight kiss, Caulfield?" 

Max turns her head too quickly at that, sees Chloe smiling impishly at her. "W-what?" 

Chloe's face darkens again, her all-too-brief look of hope and happiness gone. "Don't worry about it." 

"Chloe..." Max sits down on the bed, tucks a hand under Chloe's cheek, turning her head until she's looking at her. "Of course I will."

She would have kissed that healthy, stunning, carefree Chloe in another time, in another life, and there's no reason she wouldn't do the same for Chloe here. It wasn't like she had been blind to the adoration in Chloe's eyes, in the way she looked at her that went beyond best friends. 

"You will?" 

She leaves her hand resting against Chloe's cheek, her thumb brushing her cheekbone, and brings her other hand forward so that she now cups her face in both hands. Her cheeks are hollow under her palms, such a contrast to the fullness that the vision of a healthier Chloe's face had. Chloe closes her eyes, eyelashes dark against her pale skin, as Max closes the distance between them, brushing her nose slightly against hers, feeling Chloe's breath touch her lips, parted in anticipation of a kiss. Chloe's breath is fragile against her skin, but still tingles against Max's lips all the same. Max's eyes close too as she touches Chloe's lips with her own, brushing them with the lightest of kisses, hearing Chloe's breath catch a little at the contact. Max presses a second, firmer one to Chloe's lips, this time a little longer, just long enough for Chloe to give her the weakest of kisses in return.

"Happy?" Max whispers, pulling back enough to meet Chloe's eyes again, hands still cupping her face. 

"Very happy, Max. Now I'll have a really good sleep tonight." Her eyes close, overcome by drowsiness. "I love you, Max." 

"Goodnight, Chloe." 

Max jolts awake from sleep hours later, the room deep in darkness, silent except for Chloe's breathing and the sound of a high wind outside, like there's a giant storm hurling and screaming around Arcadia Bay. She hunts around in the dark for her cellphone next to her pillow, and on finding it, quickly checks the time. It's still only five in the morning, and yet it's so dark in here it might as well be three. There's a text from Victoria. 

_5:03am - Victoria Chase_

_shit, max, there's a tornado here! In Arcadia Bay!_

_5:04am - Taylor Christensen_

_max, it's me, taylor! Where are you? Are you okay? There's a tornado coming!_

Shit, shit, shit! 

There's no fucking way Max is going back to sleep. 

_5:04am - Taylor Christensen_

_shit, I think the power's about to cut out! The lights are flickering_

_I'm scared for my mom in the hospital_

_what if the power cuts out_

_I don't want her to die_

_5:05am - Victoria Chase_

_god, maxine, just answer me now_

_don't tell me you're dead, you bitch_

_please call or text us_

Max sits up, flinching as something smacks against the window, clattering it so hard that she's surprised the glass doesn't shatter. Something large and heavy crashes somewhere nearby, and she prays that nothing will hit the house. Not while Chloe's here. Not while she's here. 

_5:07am_

_It's okay, I'm still here. I'm at Chloe's. I'm praying we'll make it. Something just crashed into the house next door a-_

A loud, sustained beep from the ventilator makes her flinch so hard she accidentally hits send to Victoria and Taylor. Another crash against the windows, more clattering from outside; she can hear screams and yells of people out on the street. 

_Shit, shit, shit! The ventilator! Chloe!_

She tears the blanket off and leaps to her feet, running to the ventilator, heart thumping as she prays it doesn't cut out. Not now. Not on Chloe. Is Chloe sleeping? Or is she--

The power cuts out. The ventilator turns off. Max shakes her head, not wanting to believe it, grabs the machine as though giving it a little tap might reset it. Might bring the power back. Might keep Chloe alive a little longer. 

_She's not going to die. She's not going to asphyxiate. She's not going to slip away from me._

Nothing happens. It's still dead. She stumbles to Chloe's bed, half lies across it, half sits, her hands on Chloe's shoulders, forgetting in her panic that she wouldn't be able to feel her hands there. 

"Chloe! Chloe please wake up!" 

Even in the dim light, she sees Chloe's already feeling the effects of unassisted breathing, her chest collapsing in on itself, her lungs unable to refill with enough air to keep her living, to keep her going another minute, let alone day. Her lips are already turning slightly blue. 

_Chloe!_

Max lifts her legs up on the bed, curls up next to her friend, head on her chest. 

"Chloe...I'm here, okay? I'm never leaving you. _Never._ I love you. Please..." 

The windows rattle like something's hammering against them, wanting to break into the house, the tornado outside roaring as it descends on the helpless town. 

"Max...Max...help..." 

Max raises her head, sees Chloe's eyes half open, sees the terror in her face, the way she's struggling to breathe, and oh god, how she can't take another breath. Max lifts a hand up, strokes the side of Chloe's face. 

"I'm here, Chloe, I'm right here." 

"Can't--breathe--" 

Chloe grimaces, shakes her head sharp from side to side, before leaning into Max's hand, and it feels like she's trying to press a kiss into her palm before losing consciousness. 

"Chloe..." 

The window shatters in a shower of glass, and the last thing Max sees is the wall caving in, falling and falling, in slow motion, in bullet time. She turns her head, hiding her face as the raging monster of a tornado rips her world and young life apart forever. 


End file.
